“How illuminating! I wonder if, by any chance, your profound meditations had anything to do with the present whereabouts of Mrs. Mary Trippe, Gage’s housekeeper.”
The patrolman came to a dead stop. Of a sudden his face turned almost white and his eyes grew wider and wider as they stared into the questioner’s face.
“What—what d’you mean?” he demanded thickly.
The Phantom laughed easily. “Why, Pinto, you’re the scaredest cop I ever saw. Your nerves must be in a bad way. I was only wondering if you’ve seen anything of Mrs. Trippe lately.”
“My nerves are a bit jumpy,” admitted Pinto. He was moving again, but there was evidence of weakness in the region of his knees. “They’ve been that way ever since I had a touch of indigestion last month. What was it you asked me about Mrs. Trippe?”
“I walked over there yesterday afternoon, meaning to ask her a question or two in connection with the murder. I couldn’t find her, and the neighbors said they hadn’t seen her for a day or two. Got any idea where she is?”
“No, I haven’t.” Pinto was speaking in calmer tones now. “Likely as not she’s visiting friends or relatives somewhere. Wimmen don’t like to stay in a place where there’s been a murder.”
“Something in that. By the way, Pinto, when were you last inside the house?”
Again, for a mere instant, the patrolman’s steps faltered. He threw the man at his side an uneasy glance. “Why, let me see. It was the day I had the Phantom locked up in the bedroom and he gave me the slip. Why did you want to know?”
“No reason in particular. I was just thinking that—But my mind’s wandering. Got a bit tanked early in the evening. Guess I’ll turn in. See you later.”